And So It Goes: A Memoir
by melancholyallie
Summary: For AP Language, I had to write a true event about myself. And...this is it! It had to be short and concise, so it's not as detailed as I would have wanted, but I hope it's good enough.


Looking out the window through the horizontal Venetian blinds, I could see the fire station. Nothing had changed since the last time I looked—three math problems earlier—except, perhaps, the sun retreating behind a cloud. Glancing back down at the papers in front of me, I didn't know whether to be overwhelmed or grateful for the distraction. Missing two days of school qualifies for make-up work, and tons of it. At least I could absorb myself into figures and fictitious situations, rather than dwell on the fact that I should not have been there that day.

I left the living room as soon as the crying subsided. Once I saw the three of them through the window above the TV, their faces watching their step, I braced myself, hoping they'd be all cried-out. Slowly, they filed into the living room, my back to them from my spot on the couch. Anna was the first to let out her heartbreaking sob. All of them were hugging and sniffling. I stayed where I was. I didn't want to deal with it. My mother came next to the couch, kneeling on the carpet that may or may not be holding my eraser shavings.

"Hi, honey…" she spoke carefully. I continued scribbling down random numbers. "You can cry if you want to…"

I did not. I let a couple tears fall, one landing directly on my current story problem. Now, they were talking about flowers. Mom mentioned something about having a small arrangement from "just his girls". My grandmother started off about the place where they were getting the flowers from, what she wanted, how many she wanted, scarcity, freshness, delivering, and what did we think? The grip on my pencil tightened. Mom noticed the tears pouring out of my eyes.

"It's ok," she comforted, crushing me in a hug. "You don't have to be brave. You're allowed to cry."

I pulled back. Keeping my face down, I gathered up my things and informed them I was going upstairs. I breezed past my dad and my uncle and took the stairs two at a time.

* * *

For March, it was a gorgeous day. Almost hot.

I was wearing my black t-shirt dress, black sweater, and black flats that pinched because they weren't broken in yet. My skin became hot and prickly. Who cares about what I wear? You show up, wear black, it's over. Why would you desire to ever wear that same outfit again? Only to relive the exhausting memory of giving the people what they want.

I found a box of aloe tissues, pulled out half, and shoved them into my muted blue purse. I brought along my new copy of _The Lord of the Flies_ just in case I could avoid talking to someone who remembers me from when I was "this big". Reading could be helpful. I could focus sorely on what the main character did and what it symbolized. Funny enough, with my life, everything I did felt scrutinized, too, and every movement I made was in slow motion.

* * *

My grandmother loves flowers. The smell cocooned me the second we walked in.

There was a whiney violin playing. It all looked eerily familiar. Two easels were propped up outside the foyer telling us which room was ours. The furniture was taut, was a man welcoming us and taking coats. I wanted to slap the somber, pitiful look off his face. I walked through the doors. The usually heavenly smell was now choking me, not letting me get any oxygen in my aching lungs.

Bam. I caught a glimpse.

He was at the end of the long room. I tossed my bag on the nearest couch and collapsed into it, not looking up.

My grandmother was the only one who said anything, "Oh…he looks so good."

Dad put his hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, Al, you're going to have to deal with it eventually."

"I _am_ dealing with it!" I snapped. It was the first time I spoke above a whisper in several days. I felt him recoil.

Several minutes later, the rest of our family started showing up. Our friends from Canada even made an appearance. Then came the extended relatives I had only ever heard stories about. Was anyone who ever knew him here? I wouldn't have been surprised; he was all about quality, not quantity.

My cousins never left my side. I felt stronger just having them close by. We kids stick together...but we weren't kids anymore, and the thought made me feel so alone in that crowded room. I was surrounded by people who knew me, but didn't know a thing. I met. I greeted. I listened to the relentless phony small-talk, like I was supposed to. I didn't go near the casket, didn't even look. Relentless phony small-talk was preferable compared to what I was avoiding.

* * *

It was the beginning of the end, that's why it hurt so badly. It reminded me how life was pulled out from underneath us like a rug. From here, it was only going to get worse. I had an overwhelming wake up call to how selfish I had been. I was a prisoner of my own mind. I could let my mind run wild with no idea how to stop it. I cried myself to sleep every night, even after the funeral. I felt awful for my grandmother; living with someone for fifty years, and then one day, they're just gone. I couldn't even grasp what my mom and uncle were going though; losing the man who taught you everything. He was their superhero, their daddy. That spring break, we were going to Florida—the place of his heart attack and death—for the first time without him. Florida, I could just tell, was going to be heartbreaking.

Then I met Holden.

* * *

We climbed out of the hot tub. The Florida air was chilly against my skin, so I wrapped a towel around my waist like a skirt. We inched our way over to the gate, to where they were sitting. Closer. Even closer.

"You guys looking at the stars?" Anna said. Her tone cut through the breeze like she changed our histories.

Embarrassing. Of course they were looking at the stars. Now, their faces donned surprised expressions. The first boy, with the longer hair, was slouched down in a lounge chair, his head angled toward the night sky. He spoke first:

"Actually, we were looking for the moon. We can't find it…" he chuckled and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

He was right: the moon had been hiding. It wasn't up high enough in the sky to clear the pool house roof yet.

"What are your names?" Anna asked. It was funny how she is so ruthless.

The boy with the shorter hair, who was sitting up, quietly said, "I'm Hogan."

"Hi." Anna and I both said. His surprised expression changed to confusion. I didn't blame him. Maybe it freaked people out if Anna and I spoke at the same time.

I looked over at the boy with the longer hair. His smile was bashful, like he already knew our reactions before he said anything.

"I'm Holden." He lifted his hand in a small wave.

They seemed embarrassed of their names. But they shouldn't have been. I liked them already.

"Are you guys brothers?" Anna asked, suppressing a giggle.

"No! People always ask us that, but we're not," Holden defended. "Have either one of you read _A Catcher in the Rye_?"

Again, Anna and I spoke at the same time.

"No," Anna shook her head.

"No, but it's on my reading list, actually," I said, slightly surprised I recognized the title I had written down a week earlier.

"Oh, yeah, me too," Holden told me. "My parents are really weird and named me after the main character."

"Well, that's cool," I said, tightening my towel-skirt.

"What are your names?" Holden asked.

"I'm Anna," my sister announced.

His eyes met mine.

"Allison."

"So, are you two sisters?" Holden said, already knowing the answer.

We faced each other and nodded our heads. The more we spoke at the same time, the more apparent it became.

For over an hour, we talked in the gleam of an old street light. We discovered they were from Pennsylvania and even though it wasn't that far away from Michigan, to Anna and me, it was an alien world. They were different from anyone I had ever met. Their opinions were adamant and well thought out, they knew who they were.

We had three days of our vacation left. Holden and Hogan had two. Every night we got together and went on what the boys called a "Night Walk". We walked around Cypress Bend Retirement Park, under a dark blue sky, the stars following our every move and the palm trees framing it into a perfect memory.

The morning came where Hogan and Holden had to leave. After one last walk, we stood at the corner outside our unit. The morning sun was hot, as if it was mocking the fact that we were going to be leaving it. Minutes passed. They kept saying they had to go, but made no effort to leave. Holden had me double check my number in his phone and when I confirmed, it really felt like goodbye; a "see you later" desperately placed on the tips of our tongues. Anna and I walked up the tiny stairs to our place. I looked back, watching them disappear around the corner.

* * *

Holden and I kept talking after we got home.

He taught me there's life past Michigan's state lines. He made me more aware that there are other worlds worth exploring, but to do that, I had to appreciate my own. We talked easy. Shared simply. He had a new perspective that I secretly admired. I didn't try hard to learn the little details. We had just met, but we knew each other. I never felt judged or scrutinized and I _wanted _the moments to be in slow motion so I could memorize everything and play it back in my mind like an old childhood lullaby. I was happy again.

When my grandfather died, he took a part of me with him, leaving a small hole in my chest. For a time, Holden could fill part of that space. The hole would never be completely healed, but allowing someone in to make the edges scab over was part of letting go. Healing is living and living _is_ healing. Even though the elated, magical feeling has worn off, I don't wish it away. Being afraid of pain and hurt is considerably more exhausting than just accepting it. I needed to keep some of those Florida stars in my pocket for another time. Some things were starting to make sense again and without Holden knowing, he brought me back to life. Without him knowing, he rescued me from myself.


End file.
